


A Tale of Hot Showers and Shared Clothing

by LiveAndLet_Die



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blow Jobs, Blue Eyes, Bottom Dean, Boys Kissing, Caring Dean, Emotional Baggage, Explicit Sexual Content, First Aid, First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Friends to Lovers, Gay Sex, Green Eyes, Hand Jobs, Hurt Castiel, In-Universe Supernatural Fanfiction, Internal Conflict, Internalized Homophobia, Light Dom/sub, Little Spoon Dean, M/M, Making Love, Masturbation, Oral Fixation, Pining, Pining Dean Winchester, Porn With Plot, Post-Hunt, Power Exchange, Rimming, Sharing a Bed, Shirtless Castiel, Slow Build Castiel/Dean Winchester, Slow Burn, Smut, Some Humor, Sweet/Hot, Top Castiel, Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester, just because I don't want to tag the nitty gritties
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-08
Updated: 2017-09-18
Packaged: 2018-11-29 15:02:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11443338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiveAndLet_Die/pseuds/LiveAndLet_Die
Summary: Dean has just wrapped up an easy hunt with the aid of Castiel, and was ready to head home with angel in tow. One more night in a crappy motel room, a few stitches, and then they'd finish the five hundred miles back to Lebanon --- or so it seems. Without Sam, the dynamics between he and Cas shift drastically, and Dean finds close quarters with his best friend are suddenly much more difficult to deal with. Can Dean once again ignore his unwanted attraction to the angel, or will this night together prove to be too much for the hunter? A shirtless Cas and ignorance of personal space will make this one a close call.Takes place during season 12.





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

> This fanfic is dedicated to my younger sister, who has driven me to work on this story with threats of disowning me if I didn't, and to TheGreenestGreenToEverGreen, whose kind words and encouragement gave me the confidence to post this.
> 
> Enjoy!

“Jeez, Cas, you _reek.”_ Dean muttered, wrinkling his nose.

 

In an effort to escape re-organizing the bunker library, Dean had pinned down a case a few states over; and, from the newspaper clippings, it looked to be nothing a silver bullet or two couldn't handle. Despite this, Cas had insisted he have a “wing man” - something Dean found endlessly amusing - and made the trip with him to some shotty town in Kentucky. They killed themselves a few shape-shifters, but not before falling in raw sewage.

 

“And you smell wonderful, Dean.” Cas said, taking no trouble to disguise his sarcasm.

 

“Well-played, smartass,” Dean conceded. “Why don’t you magic us clean, and we can get a head-start home.”

 

Cas looked solemnly down at his hands. Dean watched expectantly, and then impatiently.

 

“Oh, no… _Please_ tell me you got the mojo.”

 

Cas pressed his eyes shut, and then peered back up at Dean, utterly drained.

 

“You’re kidding, right? Tell me you are kidding.” Dean groaned.

 

Cas gave him an exasperated look.

 

“No, Dean, I’m not.”

 

Dean dragged his hands over his face before remembering what was all over them. He promptly wiped them on his soiled jacket, cursing and spluttering out anything that had neared his mouth.

“Do you have _anything_ not caked with sewage for me to wipe my face off on?”

 

“Dean, I’m just as dirty as you are.” Cas answered.

 

Dean snorted, momentarily forgetting the mess on his face as he cracked a smile.

 

“What?” Cas defended, growing more exasperated.

 

“Nothing man, you’re just funny.” Dean said, gesturing towards his friend. “C’mon, let’s go.”

 

The two made their way back down the alleyway, their breath and footsteps amplified by the brick walls and relative silence. Castiel kept his lumbering gait steady despite an unhealed gash in his side, walking alongside his human companion with injuries of a similar intensity, and they rounded the corner onto the sidewalk and approached their car. It was impeccably clean, to Dean’s dismay, and he gingerly opened the car door and sat himself down, doing his very best to touch as little as possible. He barked at Cas when he went for shotgun, and after some bickering, the angel slid into the backseat of the Chevrolet. Dean looked approvingly at the still spotless passenger seat.

 

“Hey, Cas, you got reception out here?” Dean asked, looking at the time on his watch.

 

“Hmph.”

 

“C’mon, man, it’s nothin’ personal.” Dean shoved the keys in the ignition.  “Just looking out for my baby.”

 

Cas rolled his eyes.

 

“Here,” he said, handing up his phone with a pout.

 

Dean looked in the rear-view mirror, smiling at his friend. Cas's hair was askew, matted in odd places and sticking out in others, and his trench was sopping wet and hanging loosely around his frame, big blue eyes staring back at him, bemused, made ever brighter by his otherwise grimy face. Dean couldn’t help but compare the angel with a cat just out of a bath. Well, perhaps the opposite of a bath.

 

“The phone, Dean,” said Cas, hand still extended into the front seat.

 

Dean paused, thinking.

 

“Hey.” He said. “You know what? Screw it. You can ride up here.”

 

Cas’s expression lightened exponentially, and he unbuckled his seatbelt (Cas seemed to have a special appreciation for automotive safety measures) and started to get out of the car.

 

Dean interjected: “Wait, wait - I have some requirements.”

 

Cas huffed.

 

“First off, I can’t have any grimy coats up here.” Dean said.

 

The angel looked absolutely scandalized.

 

“Dean-”

 

“Dear god, Cas,” said Dean, “you can keep the smelly thing, just not in the front seat.”

 

Begrudgingly, Castiel peeled off the mucky overcoat, getting stuck once or twice in the surplus of fabric before he shrugged the rest of it off his shoulders. He half-heartedly threw it in the backseat, Dean cringing at the sickening sploshing sound as coat met the leather of his Baby. Cas raised his eyebrows, gesturing mockingly at his still filthy clothing.

 

“Is this better, Dean?”

 

“ _Much.”_

 

Cas closed the door, and Dean eyed his friend as he crossed in front of the car. Of course, Dean understood the appeal of layered clothing--- but, _this guy,_ never, ever, took any of those layers off. And, on the other hand, Dean was often guilty of forgetting that it wasn’t some scrawny nerd under all those oversized jackets. So, as the angel marched nix one of his layers, a streetlamp lighting up his features, Dean once again was hit with a sharp dose of reality--- Cas was kinda hot.

 

In a manly, good-for-you-bro, kind of, very platonic, way.

 

Yeah.

 

Cas plopped down on the seat, pulling at the fabric of his shirt, which was clinging to his abdomen.

 

Dean stared a second too long.

 

His friend furrowed his eyebrows and Dean looked away quickly, swallowing hard, ignoring the unsettling heat in his middle. Cas went back to adjusting his shirt.

 

Licking his lips, Dean turned the keys. For God’s sake, he’s known the guy for _years._ Cas is practically family. And still, _still,_ there was that odd, confusing side to their relationship that he could not shake for the life of him. To be honest, he couldn’t quite put his finger on what it was. That was what he told himself, at least. You see, the Dean you saw wasn’t always the Dean you got - underneath the quips and  the and leather and the hyper-masculinity and the alcoholism, there was the parts he sublimated, parts that seemed to show themselves more often than he would like. Dean supposed his bond with Cas was a by-product of that internal battle; a weird, insignificant anomaly that just sort of came with a friendship with an awkward celestial being.

 

Besides, he wasn’t gay.

 

Sure, he’d had urges, uncomfortable exchanges, boners without sufficiently heterosexual explanations… but, that happens to everybody. I mean, what about all the women? One or two drunk blowjobs he’s given don’t mean shit if you factor in the entirety of his sexual history.

 

And, stuff he did when he was a demon doesn’t count. That wasn’t even him, right?

 

He should really stop thinking about this.

 

“Buckle up, buttercup,” Dean said, pulling onto the road.

 

“Already done, Dean.”

 

Cas seemed to be unaffected by the earlier exchange, already going about his normal business of scrutinizing whatever happened to be outside of his window. But, Dean couldn’t handle the silence.

 

“Heya, Cas?”

 

“Hmm?”

 

“Why do you say my name so much?”

 

Dean was surprised he'd said thet out loud --- he wasn't usually one for asking random (and sort of stupid) questions. Cas seemed surprised as well, as he turned rather quickly to look over at Dean.

 

“What else would you like me to call you?” Cas asked, with a hint of incredulousness.

 

“No, I don’t know man, you just use my name more than the average guy does in an average conversation.” Dean replied,feeling increasingly uncomfortable.

 

Cas’s brows furrowed once again.

 

God, did Dean regret opening his mouth.

 

“In case you haven’t noticed, Dean, I’m not exactly an average guy, nor do we often have average conversations.”

 

_Okay, now he sounded totally stupid. But to hell if he wasn’t gonna get an answer._

 

“Yeah, but, why? Is it an angel thing?”

 

“Dean, if you were looking for a segue into conversation, this appears to be a poor choi--”

 

“--- C’mon, man, just answer the damn question.”

 

Cas squinted ahead.

 

“As long as you keep your eyes on the road.”

 

Realizing he was neglecting that principal, Dean snapped his eyes forward, just as they nearly collided with a stop sign. Cursing, he jerked the wheel back into the lane.

 

“That’s much better.”

 

“Yeah whatever, wise-guy. Now fire away.”

 

With a breath, Castiel began.

 

“Well, I could say that I insist upon the use of first names due to the intimate nature of such a gesture, and that it is a sign of attentive listening and intellectual immersion; but in all honesty, I simply enjoy saying your name. It is a reminder of the gravity of our connection.”

 

There was a moment of silence before Dean spoke. _Gravity of our connection? What the hell was that supposed to mean?_

 

“That’s- uh... nice, Cas.” Said Dean, cautiously patting his friend’s arm.

 

_Was Cas blushing?_ Dean couldn’t be certain, mostly due to the low light and layer of grime, but it sure as hell looked like it. Dean pulled his hand away, as he was obviously making Cas uncomfortable.

 

He hadn’t yet gotten used to Cas’s recent developments - whether it was the weakened state of his grace, his prolonged exposure to humanity, or a combination of the two, Cas had seemed to become more and more human than angel. Of course, he was still Cas, same deadpan humour and awkwardness, same off-center tie and ratty trench coat. He just had some more relatable (and alarmingly human) quirks. Ever since Cas discovered the joys of a hot shower, life at the bunker included the almost constant hum of running water to the shower stalls; and the mornings were always accompanied by the smell of coffee brewing in the kitchen, a beverage Cas had taken an acute liking to. He would also eat on occasion, without complaint of molecules, and Dean had made a habit of keeping the pantry stocked with peanut butter and jelly should Cas ever be inspired. Most remarkably, Dean had found the angel on several occasions fast asleep at his post in the war room, consequently discovering his friend was not one who likes to be woken up.

 

He had insisted on giving Cas his own room, the one across from his own, and Cas had obliged, moving his few belongings into it - specifically, his phone charger, the keys to his truck, a choice stack of books from the library, and the duffel bag he had gotten from Dean. A few more items had found its way in his room, including a postcard and photograph from Claire, an alarm clock, and a toothbrush and razor (Cas had developed a fondness for personal hygiene after he found he couldn’t always get the job done with his grace.)

 

Although, Dean hadn’t quite gotten used to his emotional advancements; namely, his new-found affinity for sarcasm, and wider range of moods. He _was_ a moody son of a bitch.

 

But the blushing was new.

 

In an attempt to let Cas off the hook, Dean turned on the radio, and the chorus of “Hound Dog” blasted through the speakers. Dean went to switch the station to something more seventies, but Cas stopped him, saying something akin to “I’ve always had a soft spot for Elvis.”

 

“You know, Dean,” said Cas, looking thoughtfully at the radio, “Elvis Presley surprised everyone in heaven with his career. He was meant to get a bicycle for his eleventh birthday, and become a farmer and devout christian with an obscene number of children; but his mother bought him a guitar instead. And here we are today, listening to his music.”

 

 

 

> _You ain't nothin' but a hound dog_
> 
> _Cryin' all the time_
> 
> _Well, you ain't never caught a rabbit_
> 
> _And you ain't no friend of mine_
> 
>  

 

Dean smiled.

 

“Well, thank God for Elvis’s mom, then.”

 

* * *

~ _End Of Part 1~_


	2. Part Two

 

“Wanna grab a bite to eat?” He asked, making the turn.

 

“That sounds wonderful.”

 

The pair headed for the drive-thru, all the more aware of their empty stomachs as the smell of fast food wafted through the ventilation. Avoiding the turducken, Dean chose a delicious looking double bacon cheeseburger with fries and a tall drink, and Castiel followed suit, ordering the same with a coffee instead of the drink despite Dean’s insisting that it was much too late for caffeine. They rolled up to the window, where some confused, pimply teenager took an incredibly grimy twenty from two men who appeared to have just come back from a swim in the sewer. Chuckling,  Dean counted the change, and Cas fiddled around with the radio, until settling on something Dean thought might be the Supremes. The same kid came back a minute later with their order, and he preceded to hand Dean a bag, two drinks, and a giant wad of napkins with a baffled look. Cas leaned forward to thank him and received a tight lipped nod before the teen disappeared back into the restaurant.

 

Cas reached for the bag, Dean stopped him.

 

“Hey, there’s a motel a minute off. Let’s wait, so we can enjoy it,” he said, surprising himself with his restraint.

 

Begrudgingly, Cas agreed. Ahead on the highway, he spotted a bright letters spelling ‘MOTE,’ the ‘L’ flashing in and out, along with the ‘no’ in ‘no vacancy.’

 

“Cross your fingers they got a vacancy, Cas. Otherwise, we’re sleepin’ here.” he said, and Cas crossed his fingers against his thigh. Dean smiled to himself.

 

After pulling in, he and Cas crossed the parking lot into the lobby. Well, it wasn’t much of a lobby - it was about the size of a small bedroom, smelling of mildew and colored a shade of puce that Dean wasn’t sure was from the paint or layered dirt and stains.

 

“Got any rooms open?” said Dean, eyeing a greying man behind the counter, snoring with his head propped against the wall. He didn’t budge. “Hello?” Cas then stepped forward and rung the bell, waking the man up with a start.

 

“Sorry ‘bout that.” The man then sniffed the air, and promptly wrinkled his nose. “The hell’d you come from?” He said, watching as the men’s clothing dripped a questionable substance onto the lobby floor.

 

Dean spoke up. “Long story. You got a room?”

 

“Uh, yeah,” he answered. “Two vacant. Shower’s shot in one of ‘em, though.”

 

Cas interjected. “That’s alright. We were only looking for one, anyway.”

 

Dean felt heat rise in his cheeks. He had the impulse to elbow Castiel in the ribs, but that would just make it worse. The man behind the counter squinted at them.

 

“Sure.” He reached into one of the drawers. “How many nights?”

 

“One.” Dean stepped forward with his wallet, avoided eye contact as he traded it in for the key to room number seven and whisked Cas out of the room with him, feeling eyes on his back all the way out. And it only got worse. He walked in to find Cas nowhere in sight, and smack in the middle of the room, a single, butt-ugly king-sized bed.

 

_Damn it. Always with him and Sam, and now Cas?_

 

“It’s okay Dean, I’ll take the sofa.” Cas walked out of the bathroom, seeming to have read Dean’s mind.

 

“Not the point,” Dean huffed. He then spotting the so-called ‘sofa’ shoved against the back wall of the room - it was barely a loveseat, colored an awful shade of orange and entirely threadbare, stuffing poking out of one of the armrests. “And, you are not sleeping on that,” he added.

 

“Then where do you propose I sleep?” Cas had crossed back into the bathroom, and Dean followed to the doorway, watching as Cas squeegeed his trenchcoat over the tub.

 

“You got the bed. I have blankets in the trunk, I’ll sleep on the floor.” Dean said, nodding at the carpeted space between the bed and couch.

 

“You are kidding.” Cas raised and eyebrow, incredulous.

 

“Serious as a heart attack,” Dean confirmed.

 

Cas rolled his eyes, and Dean caught him in the bathroom mirror.

 

“I saw that.”

 

Cas answered with another, much more obvious eyeroll.

 

“Whatever. I am still sleeping on the sofa.”

 

They continued to bicker, but Cas was steadfast, his stubbornness giving Dean’s a run for it’s money - all the while wringing out his soggy trenchcoat until Dean stopped him, citing the smelly buildup on bottom of the tub and instructing Cas to wash it down the drain. Cas handed off his coat to Dean, who held it away from his body to avoid it getting dirtier as he exited the bathroom for the door. He folded the coat and popped the trunk of the Impala. Dean felt familiar sort of ache as he held the bundle, reminded of the time he had done the same thing for vastly different reasons. Just a few short years ago, while the Leviathans were at large, he’d moved the trench to every car he drove, which, during that period, was a whole lot of different cars. He had thrown it in the spin cycle more times than necessary, never managing to wash the blood all of the way out. Dean shook off the memories. Anyways, it wasn’t the same coat. Dean wasn’t quite sure what happened to the first one, and Dean presumed it got lost during Cas’s chaotic first weeks as a human. He had shown back up in a new one after he upped his mojo, and Dean realised he had never really asked about it - he was too worried about Gadreel running amuck in Sam’s body to give a damn - but, he supposed it was alright. Shorter, a bit frumpier, perhaps lacking the character of the first coat. But, it was still undeniably Cas. Dean slid it into a plastic bag, tied it tight before slipping it into another, doing the same and muttering about how it’d better not stink up his ride as he sat it next to his duffel. Dean grabbed their bags and their food and made his way back inside.

 

He locked the door behind him, setting their bags on the bed. Cas’s was suspiciously light, and Dean zipped it open to find all Cas had packed was a toothbrush and shampoo, a towel, his charger, and, for some strange reason, a half-eaten package of chili-lime pork rinds. What it lacked was a change of clothes - this dumpy motel didn’t have a washer-dryer, washing Cas’s stuff wasn’t going to happen - so Dean proceeded to rummage through his own things, seeing if there was anything extra he had packed that Cas could borrow. Cas was a bit smaller than Dean, so he figured his stuff would fit him, if not be a bit baggy. He settled on some grey pajama pants and a faded white tee shirt that may have once had a band name on it, but was too washed out to read. Dean heard the shower running in the bathroom, and he walked over and knocked on the door.

 

“You decent?” He yelled, ear to the wood.

 

“Yes,” Cas called back, “come in.”

 

Dean turned the knob and stepped in, met by a stifling cloud of humidity.

 

“God, Cas, you’re gonna suffocate.”

 

He set down the towel and stood by the sink, turning on the faucet and splashing his face. Wiping off the fogged mirror, Dean checked his reflection, finding his face was much dirtier than he had expected - although, the sludge had dried and was rubbed off in several places. Finishing up, Dean looked back at the mirror to find big, blue orbs peering at him from beyond the shower curtain.

 

“Dean?”

 

He whipped his head around, caught off-guard by Cas’s sudden appearance, having nearly forgotten he was there. Dean locked eyes with the angel, whose eyes widened at his alarm.

 

“Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you.” Cas assured, head poking further out of the shower.

 

“No, don’t sweat it man, I - um…” Dean’s voice trailed off as his eyes traveled down his friend’s body. The most skin Dean had seen on Cas was that one time his sleeves were rolled up, exposing his forearms - _wait, no, that was Lucifer, wasn’t it?_ Well, the second-most skin Dean had seen on Cas was when he had unbuttoned the top few buttons of his shirt, giving Dean a flash of his upper chest before leaving for his “date.”

 

Come to think of it, Castiel was a bit like a present underneath the christmas tree- the mystery of what was under the colorful paper making the gift itself all the more alluring every minute it wasn’t opened - and Cas was always neatly wrapped in khaki fabric and suit pants. Until, he wasn’t. And Dean was suddenly met with a sight he was not _at all_ prepared for - his inherently austere angel friend, minus the trench coat, _and_ the blazer, _and_ the shirt. And the everything. Whose collarbone stood out, a sharp line against his taut, tanned skin that glistened and steamed from the hot shower, and a surprisingly strong-looking shoulder dipped and curved up elegantly to his neck, whose chest rose with each breath, muscles stretching and rolling languidly beneath his skin, his toned arm out of the shower, hand gripped tight to the curtain, which was not quite hiding his upper half.

 

Dean licked his lips. Cas glanced down, finding his torso was exposed.

 

“Oh.” He fumbled with the curtain, pulling it close around him, making a clatter as the curtain rings raked against the rod. “My apologies. Could you grab my shampoo?”

 

Dean, grateful for an excuse to drag his eyes away, turned to grab the bottle he had left on the vanity.

 

“Yeah, already got it here.” Dean passed it into the shower, Cas’s wet fingers brushing against his own as he took the shampoo.

 

“Thanks, Dean.” Cas called from behind the curtain.

 

“Oh - and I left that stupid fluffy towel you brought from the bunker and a change of clothes on top of the toilet.” Dean added, cursing himself for his shortness of breath while simultaneously blaming the muggy air. Cas repeated his thank you, and Dean stepped out of the bathroom - before remembering he had something else to say.

 

“And hurry it up. I’m starving.” Dean called, head stuck through the open door. Dean heard a gasp from the shower.

 

“Dinner! I nearly forgot!” Cas exclaimed, uncharacteristically excited. “I’ll be out in five minutes.”

 

Dean chuckled, pulling the door closed behind him. It’d been almost twenty minutes since they had picked up the burgers, and he was beginning to regret postponing their meal. He sat down on one of the chairs by their little table and looked back towards the room he had just left, contemplating their exchange. The entire thing had been oddly domestic, considering the circumstances. And something else. His heart was beating a bit too fast, his breathing still a bit too hard - Dean was quite accomplished at denial, but this was too much for even _him_ to brush off. His best friend was naked, and he couldn’t tear his eyes away. Even worse, his best friend was a _man._ Well, looked like a man. And he’d stared slack jawed like some half-witted schoolboy. What the hell?

 

Dean heard the water shut off and the curtain being slid open. He scratched behind his ear, doing his very best to think about anything else besides Castiel. Dean settled on the bag of food sitting on the table next to him, smelling greasy and delicious reminding him of his empty stomach - he hadn’t eaten since earlier that morning back at the bunker, assuming they’d have time to grab something between stops, but the shapeshifters had proved particularly nasty and surprisingly easy to find. He and Cas had just arrived and begun their investigation when they were jumped in a back alley by a bush league shifter, who unwittingly lead them right to their nest trying to escape. They’d managed to fight off all three, but not before getting cut up themselves. Dean poked at the tear in his sleeve, wincing as he grazed the slash in his bicep.

 

“You should really clean that off before it gets infected.”

 

He looked up to find Cas standing in the doorway, having moved nearly as quietly as he used to, back when his wings still worked. Dean swallowed.

 

“Well you look, _different._ ” Dean said, looking at his friend.

 

Cas looked quite _different,_ indeed. The t-shirt shirt was much less baggy than Dean had imagined, instead fitting just a bit loosely around Cas’s torso, some of the fabric clinging to his frame. Dean’s sweatpants sat on Cas’s hips, following the the lines of his body all the way down to his bare feet, and one of his hands was slipped into his pocket, the other hanging at his side. His face was clean, his hair wet and tousled. Cas looked casual, from his clothing to his expression, and Dean did a double-take.

 

“Yeah,” Cas said, “I haven’t changed my wardrobe since I got my grace back. And thank you, these are quite comfortable.” Cas started over towards his table, and Dean closed his knees, aware of a sudden shift in blood flow with some dismay.

 

“Uh, no problem.” Said Dean, watching his friend cross the room. He noticed Cas grimace, his hand shifting to his side.  “Hey, you still aren’t healed?”

 

Cas looked over at Dean, as if he had been caught.

 

“No… I don’t seem to have the strength.” Cas admitted, looking down at his hands.

 

Dean furrowed his brows, concerned. “And, it hurts? I mean, I didn’t know it could hurt you, you being an angel, and all.”

 

Cas pursed his lips. “Well, I’m afraid I’m more vulnerable than I used to be. But, I’ll manage. A night’s rest and I should be able to heal myself. And you, too.” He said, nodding towards Dean’s arm.

“Hey, sit down.” Dean insisted. Cas obliged, taking the chair next to Dean.

 

“Stop worrying about me,” Dean continued.

 

Cas opened his mouth to argue, but Dean cut him off.

 

“You gotta start thinking about yourself, man. You can’t just go around falling apart and think you’re gonna be able to help anybody. Doesn’t work like that.”

 

Cas tilted his head, dubious.

 

“Yeah, yeah, I know, not the best example,” said Dean, gesturing to himself. “But do as I say, not as I do. Eat something. I’ll bandage you up once we finish.”

 

Cas didn’t respond, simply gazing at his friend with such tenderness that Dean had no choice but to look away. He went about ripping open the take-out bag, and Cas turned on the TV, flipping through the five channels before settling on an _Andy Griffith Show_ marathon. Dean cracked open the six-pack he’d grabbed from the backseat of the impala, and slid a bottle over to the angel, who asked why he needed coffee _and_ a beer, and was answered with a shrug and a lecture about how you needed alcohol to counteract the effects of caffeine (much to Cas’s skepticism.) Dean handed Cas his burger, who then attacked the sandwich like he hadn’t eaten in years.

 

“Whoa, slow down there, tiger.” Dean said, watching his friend take impossibly large bites..

 

“I’m hungry,” Cas insisted with a full mouth. “And it’s _delicious.”_

 

“Well, don’t forget to chew.”

 

“Noted.”

 

Dean unwrapped his own burger, mouth watering at the sight of nearly an inch of bacon piled on top of the meat, which oozed melted cheese. He sunk in his teeth, pleasantly surprised to find it tasted just off the grill.

 

“How is this still so hot? It’s been like twenty-five minutes.” Dean mused, licking his fingers.

 

Cas answered. “Well, I made sure they stayed fresh.”

 

“You’re kidding.” Dean looked up from his burger. “You couldn’t heal your gaping wound, or clean us up, but you could microwave our dinner with your mind.”

 

“It’s not that complicated, Dean.” Cas defended. ”Anyways, I don’t hear you complaining.”

 

“ Whatever. Just _priorities,_ man.”

 

The pair went back to eating their rapidly disappearing burgers, falling into a comfortable silence as they watched Barney Fife drive his new car down a gravel road. Dean took in a long breath, glad to find his circulation was back to normal. He spread his knees open once again to where he was comfortable, and looked over at Cas, who was still completely enraptured with his meal and sighing as if he had never tasted anything better. His eyes were closed, lips stretched into a blissful smile, making a sound in the back of his throat that caused Dean’s blood to resume its southward journey - and he quickly diverted his attention, focusing on the food in Cas’s hands. There was barely anything left of his burger. Dean found he wasn’t doing much better- he probably only had one or two bites left, which he finished, stomach rumbling happily as he followed it up with a chaser of beer. Dean wiped off his fingers, tossing the napkin in the trash bin.

 

“All right - let’s get you bandaged.” Dean said. “That is, if you aren’t planning on eating the wrapper.”

 

Cas shook his head. “I’ll be fine for now, Dean. Go take a shower.”

 

“C’mon, Cas.”

 

“No, really, go clean up.”

 

“You sure?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Suit yourself.” Dean grabbed his pajamas and walked into the bathroom. Cas’s dirty clothes were folded neatly next to the tub, his shampoo significantly depleted, but left with more than enough for Dean to use. He turned on the water and waited for it to heat up, thankful Cas had been smart enough to bring soap - the guy had a knack for anticipating things, and how he did it, Dean would never know. Although, he hadn’t predicted needing a change of clothes. Or, maybe, he knew Dean would have packed enough for the both of them. Could angels do that? Dean had no idea.

 

Honestly, Dean had never really talked to Cas much about angels, besides what they were up to and how they could stop them. But thinking about it now, there was a lot of things Dean didn’t know about his friend. The guy was an ancient ethereal being - you would think he would have a lot of stories to tell, a lot of wisdom to share - and yet, the tumultuous nature of their time together rendered it nearly impossible for simple conversation, and neither Cas nor Dean were inclined to talk just for the sake of talking. They were always too busy, or too unhappy with each other to do so.

 

_But, wouldn’t that be wonderful?_

 

Just being able to sit on a pier somewhere, watch the sunset with a beer in hand, and talk to one another. Hear about everything both of them had seen, learn more the kind of life Cas had lead and what the world was like through his eyes, Dean telling funny stories about Sam, maybe even making Cas smile once or twice.

 

Dean would be perfectly happy talking about nothing in particular, because the freedom to do that would mean there were no pressing matters to take care of, no great responsibility on either of their shoulders. But, that wasn’t the life they led. Maybe, someday they could share a moment like that, but there would always be something that would stop them from being at peace, stop them from having it all. Even if they did, Dean would just screw it up. Anyways, life wasn’t bad. He had a home and he had his mother back, even if she was off God knows where, and he had Sam safe and sound and the closest to happy he’d ever been, and Cas was right here with him. It was more than he could ever ask for, and probably more than he deserved.

 

Dean peeled off his jacket and shirts, clenching his jaw as his sleeve brushed past the gash in his arm. He balled them up and set them next to Cas’s things. Dean stuck his hand under the faucet over the tub, happy to find there was still hot water left, and switched on the showerhead before going about working his way out of his jeans. Dean half wondered it he’d ever be able to get the smell out of any of his things as he slid off his much less dirty boxers, which he cast onto the pile of soiled clothing before stepping into the shower.

 

The water hitting his back was like heaven. He exhaled, feeling the tension in his shoulders wash down the drain as he stood still, marveling at the water pressure and nearly forgetting what he was thinking about just a moment before. Dean uncapped the shampoo, squeezed out a generous amount and lathered it into his hair. The suds quickly turned black, and he wrinkled his nose as the smell of sewage became ever more obvious as it washed off his body. He scratched at his scalp as his mind wandered back to sunsets and happiness. Dean always felt funny fantasizing about a life he might have had, thinking about the stupid, every-day mindless stuff he never got to enjoy living the way he did - like someone would catch him daydreaming about suburban barbeques and front porches. Anyways, Dean never talked about his pipe dreams lest someone think he’d gone soft; although, he knew Sam was familiar with his desires. He was the one that insisted Dean have a life with Lisa and Ben. How Sam could see right through him would always be a mystery to Dean - even as a kid, Sam knew stuff about him even Dean hadn’t figured out yet. He probably still did. It ticked Dean off - he spent so much time and energy keeping up an image, trying to make sure no one could recognise his weakness, and people still managed to see right through his crap. Although, most people, like Sam, would tip toe around the issues when intervention wasn’t totally necessary - unless, of course, you are an infuriatingly perceptive and totally clueless angel. Cas could read Dean like a book, calling him out on a regular basis since that night they’d met; and Cas wasn’t _at all_ shy about confronting Dean. Often, it wasn’t even a confrontation. The guy would just randomly address one of Dean’s most personal struggles as if it were a conversation point, and it caused way more introspection than Dean could stomach in one lifetime, let alone over lunch. Dean knew that being forced to face himself was probably the best thing for his health, but that didn’t stop him from resenting whenever Cas brought up his internal conflicts. The worst part being, he usually took out his anger on Cas in return. Let’s face it - Dean didn’t have a huge track record of kindness towards the angel; in fact, it was quite the opposite. At least, if you were to ask Dean.

 

The suds collecting at Dean’s feet had begun to lighten in color, prompting him to scrub harder. Already he felt much cleaner despite not even getting to his body, and he looked down at his chest, where faint freckles were visible where there had once been a layer of grime. Dean rinsed out his hair, and slathered yet another handful of shampoo onto his head, which he was glad to see stay white as he lathered it into his hair. Who would have thought such little hair could hold so much muck? Dean snorted, thinking about Sam trying to wash this stuff out of his ridiculous mane. The last time that kid had short hair he was nine.

 

Man, this was unpleasant. Dean shifted, all too aware of the ungodly places the filth had wormed its way into. He reached his hand down - but stopped just above his groin.

 

_Oh my god._

 

He’d nearly forgotten. Just minutes ago, he’d been sporting a raging boner. The kind that makes your head dizzy and your pants way too tight - and Dean felt dread settle in his stomach. Because it wasn’t porn that had given him a boner, nor was it a sexy little thing across the bar, or a particularly low-cut tee shirt. No, it wasn’t even a girl.

 

It was _Cas._

 

It didn’t matter that Cas was a genderless entity comprised of celestial energy, or whatever the hell he claimed he was. What mattered was that Cas was shaped like a man. Not just any man -  Cas was, by appearance, a rugged, virile, perfect example of masculinity. He was rough-hewn and strong, all sharp edges and firmness where Dean preferred curves and softness, with wide shoulders and a cutting jaw line, a deep, commanding voice and an air of dominance and forcefulness that shook Dean to his core. Cas was powerful and absolute and not at all what Dean should like. No, Dean was a warrior, tough and proud, and too masculine himself to ever bat an eye at another man - because Dean Winchester liked cars, and guns, and rock music, and women.

 

Damn it, he liked women.

 

He liked being the stronger, dominant lover because that was what a guy like him should like. He shouldn’t be fantasizing about being pushed around. About being held down and losing control, pressed against the wall, letting someone take the wheel and give him the ride of his life. Especially when that partner is another man.

 

And yet, when the hour was late and Dean was immersed in his own pleasure, his mind wandered to this very idea, this forbidden desire he refused to admit existed, even to himself.

 

Beyond the ugly combination of guilt and disgust that had settled in Dean’s gut, something entirely different grew. His skin was heated from more than the cascade of water down his back, and his nerve endings began to wake up, his fingertips itching to touch his skin and _feel._ Dean threw his head back, letting the water hit his face, eyes closed. He slid his hands through his hair, and let them fall back down to his body. Dean’s fingertips met the center of his abdomen, and felt the familiar wave of sensation move across his skin. He traced his fingers down his middle, which pooled with yet more heat as his erection grew, and finally, his hand made contact with himself, causing Dean to inhale sharply. Slowly, Dean took his half-hard cock into his hand, stroking the length of it with the pad of his thumb, sending sparks through his body as he gently eased himself through the process, building up the intensity of his strokes as his shaft thickened rapidly. Soon, the rest of his hand moved in tandem with his thumb, establishing a steady rhythm Dean had perfected over years of practice. Thank God for masturbation - he would have gone crazy a long time ago if he didn’t have _this_ to look forward to.

 

Usually, sharing a room regularly with another person meant extremely quick, totally quiet sessions that functioned more as routine run-throughs necessary for basic health than actual pleasure. Showers were really the only place one could actually spend time without drawing too much attention to oneself, and even then, living with your brother meant privacy wasn’t necessarily a priority. But, ever since Dean had gotten his own room, he’d had more time and freedom to explore himself than ever before - and, it had certainly spiced up his technique. Also, the television was on in the next room, and Cas was much less likely to barge in unannounced (now that he knew humans weren’t big fans of that,) so he could take his time.

 

Dean felt his insides seize up, thrill flooding his senses. Cas had, without warning, resurfaced in his thoughts, and Dean felt himself thicken further in his grasp. Suddenly, he saw Cas, lit from behind as he stood in the doorway, sweatpants riding low on his hips, Dean’s shirt clinging to his wet skin. He saw Cas looking out from the shower, lips parted, his hair dark and wet and his gaze penetrating. Dean picked up his pace, breathing becoming shallow and fast as his other hand strayed, reaching aimlessly for another part of his body to touch. He settled for his chest, running his hand across the tight muscle that laid there.

 

Dean knew he would regret this, like every other time. But he was too close, to high on pleasure to care where it was coming from, and like clockwork, Dean hit the edge, teetering dangerously as his hand pumped his length in long, deliberate strokes. So, when Cas’s deep, blue eyes surfaced at the forefront of his mind, and Dean felt himself crest, there was no regret - he simply let the powerful orgasm course through his body as blue rings swum in his his vision, and his head spun, barely grasping what had just happened, only caring that it had been _so good._ So very good.

 

Dean was wrecked. He stood there without moving his hand, still half-wrapped around his softening cock. Gradually he came back to his senses, and decided he should probably get back to washing himself. He soaped up a washcloth, mind still swimming with pleasure as he went about cleaning what was left of the muck off of his skin. Slowly, thinking back to what he had just done, Dean came to realize he’d been louder than he’d intended. Much louder. Good thing the water was running and the T.V. was on, and the walls were thicker than your average motel. He hoped.

  


* * *

~ _End of Part 2~_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I will do my best to upload a chapter every week, so stay tuned. And if I take too long, feel free to yell at me. :)


	3. Part Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I meant to wait a bit before I updated this fic, but it's just too tempting. Hold tight, this one's a trip. Also, I'm overjoyed by the sheer number of you guys who have looked into this work ---it's so nice to know someone out there is reading my writing, and, hopefully, enjoying it.
> 
> Hugs and kisses,  
> LiveAndLet_Die

Dean shut off the water. He had successfully de-sewaged himself, albeit having to wash certain places more thoroughly than he would originally have liked to. But, he felt clean and fresh, and it was _so_ worth it. He grabbed a scratchy motel towel from a rack and dried himself off, rubbing his hair until it no longer dripped. Dean slipped on his plaid pajama pants, and pulled his tee shirt over his head. He wiped off the mirror and looked at the reflection. He didn’t see anything new, and turned away. He threw the towel over the curtain rod. Right now, Dean felt great. He knew that he shouldn’t be getting off on what he had just gotten off on, but the afterglow was too wonderful to screw up with self-reflection. Anyways, no one but him knew about it but him. Dean turned the knob and started to walk back into the room.

 

He froze.

 

The television had been turned off, and the only light in the room was the yellowish, soft kind from the lamp on the bedside table. Cas was no longer at the table on the opposite side of the room. Instead, he was perched at the edge of the mattress, hands gripped tight to the comforter, staring right back at Dean. He looked the same as he had when Dean dragged him to that nightclub - slack-jawed and helpless, stiff as a board and nothing like the Cas that Dean was used to. The guy was _wrecked._ His chest heaved, his knuckles were white and his eyes were wide, pupils blown. The conclusion hit Dean like a wall of bricks. Cas had heard him.

 

The angel swallowed nervously and looked away, scrambling to compose himself. _What was he supposed to do now?_ Dean felt heat rise in his cheeks. _Damn it._ He had to say something, do something to diffuse the situation. Cover it up with words.

 

“Well, Mr. I-Refuse-To-Sleep-On-The-Bed, change our mind, did we?” Dean said, raising an eyebrow.

 

_Good, That sounds good._

 

Cas blinked, taking a moment to register what Dean had said.

 

“Uh, no. I just thought sitting in the bed will make it easier for you to bandage my side.” Cas answered, voice wavering with uncertainty. To prove his point, Cas pulled the first aid kit from where it lay on the mattress behind him.

 

“Fair enough.” Dean said, shrugging. “I’ll grab the whiskey, okay?”

 

Dean padded over to his bag, feeling eyes follow him across the room. Once again, his heartbeat had picked up - not due, this time, to apprehensive arousal, but due to the entirely terrifying idea Cas had heard something he shouldn’t have. And by the look of pure alarm plastered to the angel’s face, that was _exactly_ what had happened. Dean unzipped the bag and leafed carefully through his things, deliberately slowing down his movements, calculating each motion, aiming to seem as normal and unfazed as he possibly could - when, in reality, he was moving just as gracefully as a robot wearing skinny jeans. Still, he tried. After an excruciatingly quiet few seconds, Dean found the half-empty bottle of Jack Daniel’s tucked behind his shirts. He paused before turning around.

 

 _What was he supposed to say?_ Like hell if Dean was gonna bring it up - some things were better left unsaid. Hopefully Cas recognised that and wouldn’t make some stupid comment, because the potential conversation made his insides crawl. Although, Dean doubted his friend would mention anything - his reaction alone suggested Cas had a full understanding of the situation, and would most likely not want to talk about it, either. _God, he’d probably scarred the guy for life._ Cas may be less inexperienced than he was before, but he was still pretty pure, for the lack of a better word. So, yeah, it stood to reason it would take awhile for him to bounce back from this.

With a deep breath, Dean summoned his courage and turned. Cas was still completely rigid, planted at the foot of the bed, head turned toward Dean with an expression he couldn’t quite place. The walk back to the bed, while only being a few feet, seemed to last forever - stretching the uncomfortable silence in the room to a point Dean could no longer bear.  

 

“Okay, buddy. Here we go.”

 

Cas let out an audible puff of air, as if he’d been holding his breath. Dean didn’t know angels did that.  

 

“So, let’s open the kit.”

 

Dean wasn’t sure if Cas had a grasp on first aid, so it might as well be a teaching moment. Also, leaves less room for conversation. Or silence. Dean wasn’t sure which would be worse. Cas had busied himself with the box, fumbling with the latch before finally managing to reveal a meticulously organized, state-of-the-art set of medical supplies, bandages, and creams. Sam had a little extra time and a little extra money, and apparently - buying a fancy box from the Red Cross and stocking it with bandaids and neosporin was his idea of a good time.

 

“Okay. You already cleaned it off in the shower, so we don’t need to worry about soap or anything. But we should still disinfect it.”

 

Cas nodded, eyes glued to Dean. Honestly, Dean had gotten used to the personal space thing; but this right here was a _whole new level_ of awkward. They were in a quiet, dimly-lit motel room, inches apart with no Sam to diffuse the tension. Not to mention, Cas had overheard him doing the five knuckle shuffle. Ugh.

 

“Pass me a cloth or something,” he said. Cas passed him a cloth. Dean set it down and uncapped the whiskey and lowered himself to one knee.

 

“Now, lift up your shirt.”

 

Tentatively, Cas reached for the hem of his shirt, and lifted it partway up his ribcage. Dean gritted his teeth at the sight of his friend’s wound --- an angry gash cutting alarmingly deep into Cas’s side.

 

“Man, you gotta tell me how bad this stuff is. It might need stitches.” Dean said, regretting to have waited so long to fix the angel up.

 

“It’s alright, Dean,” Cas murmured, head hung, neck craning to get a better look at his side. “Like I said, it’ll be healed tomorrow morning.”

 

“Hmm.” Dean answered, distracted his friend’s injury. Hesitantly, Dean pushed some of the fabric of Cas’s shirt away, finger tracing along the angel’s skin, which was pleasantly warm. Cas tensed at his touch, and Dean quickly pulled his hand away.

 

“Sorry.”

 

“It’s okay, you didn’t hurt me.”

 

“Okay.”

 

Dean pushed the fabric away once again, this time making a conscious effort not to touch Cas.

 

“Now, this is gonna sting a bit.” Dean warned, readying the whiskey with his other hand. Cas replied with a nearly imperceptible nod, which Dean took as a green light. He splashed some on the gash, eliciting a muffled hiss from Cas.

 

“We good?” Dean asked, looking up at his friend.

 

“Yes, fine.” Cas murmured.

 

Dean took the cloth and wiped up the extra alcohol, trying to be as gentle as he could. He had managed to avoid eye contact this far, and was hesitant to break that streak. But, it would be equally uncomfortable if he continued to stroke Cas’s bare skin with a thin rag - and so, Dean tossed it aside and lifted his eyes. He was surprised to find Cas looking right back at him, the light from the lamp behind him glowing around his head like a halo. Dean’s throat felt tight as he spoke.

 

“Okay, gonna need some butterfly bandages.” He said. A second passed before a flicker of comprehension appeared on Cas’s face, who then turned silently to the kit, dropping the hem of his shirt. Rummaging through the Band-aids, Cas pulled out four little paper slips with proper labels. He studied the unopened bandages before handing them to Dean

 

“Are they meant to resemble butterflies? Because they don’t.”

 

Dean smiled, ripping open a bandage.

 

“See?” Dean said, waving the bandage. “Looks like it’s got wings.”

 

Cas seemed unimpressed.

 

“Hmm.”

 

Dean shook his head, amused. He missed his friend’s childlike candidness, which seemed to have been mostly lost over the last few years.

 

“Buddy, gonna need the shirt up if you want the bandage on your skin.” He said.

 

Cas looked down. “Oh.” He muttered, and pulled the shirt back up, twisting so Dean had better access to his slashed skin.

 

Dean frowned at Cas’s contorted body, bent in a way that couldn’t possibly be pleasant, even without the cut. He stopped, trying to think of a way that would be more comfortable for Cas. Dean knew the answer, but was just reluctant to suggest it.

 

“Hey, so you don’t got to hold your arms like that, why don’t you just, uh, take off the shirt?” Dean finished, clenching his teeth as he heard himself.

 

Cas looked uncertainly at Dean before grabbing the hem of his t-shirt and lifting it up. He raised his arms, shimmying his shoulders as the fabric worked its way up and off of his body, the muscles in his torso flexing as the shirt finally came over his head. This entire time, Cas has kept his eyes locked on Dean, innocent blue piercing his vivid green. Dean swallowed heavily as he studied his friend’s every move, watching as his eyes flicked away to toss the tee to the side before looking back at him, drawing Dean’s gaze back up and away from the surplus of warm olive-colored skin.

 

“Dean?”

 

Cas’s voice was soft, raspy, and unsure. Dean jolted himself back into the moment, happy to continue whatever he was doing. What _was_ he doing?

 

“Dean, are you going to continue?” Cas said, head tilted.

 

“Uh, yeah, ‘course.” Dean started. “Just spaced out. Turn a bit, I’ll get these on.” He peeled off the paper on the back of the bandage, carefully placing one end, gently pushing Cas’s flesh together before smoothing the rest of the bandage down. He repeated the process three times with little word from the angel. “There. Everything feeling fine?” Dean looked up from where he knelt at his friend’s feet, and he felt something jump in his core at the sight --- a topless, particularly disheveled looking Cas peering down, looming over him with his lips parted the slightest bit. Dean wasn’t sure it was possible, but the heat between his legs grew more intense. He tried to distract and disgust himself --- name the presidents, picture the lunch lady at that middle school in Kentucky --- but nothing worked. All he could do was inwardly scold himself for being aroused by an off-limits commodity while simultaneously becoming more aroused by the same off-limits commodity.

 

Cas had nodded, and Dean grabbed another pad of gauze and a wrap bandage.

 

“So, now we should stand up.” Dean said, doing his best to sound unaffected.

 

“Okay.” Cas sounded strained as well, and he had dropped eye contact.

 

The pair stood up, Dean groaning slightly as his knee protested under his weight. Cas shuffled awkwardly to the left, trying to get out from between Dean and the bed. He looked incredibly self conscious, hunching his shoulders, and Dean hoped he was too preoccupied to notice that he was doing his best to guard his lap from sight.

 

Dean  gathered his courage and spoke.

 

“Okay, now we’re gonna wrap it up for the night.” Dean hesitated, and then put the gauze against the wound, holding his hand against Cas’s side. Cas tensed up. “Uh, hold this here.” He said.

 

Cas shyly moved his hand, placing it against Dean’s. Taken aback, Dean looked up at his friend, who was looking down at his ribcabe. He swallowed.

 

“Uh,” he said, voice faltering. He carefully pulled his hand out from under Cas’s. “Um, now I’m gonna have to reach around you.”

 

His friend nodded. Dean took the end of the Ace bandage and slid his arm around the angel, doing his best to ignore the fact their faces were now just inches apart. Holding the bandage against the curve of Cas’s back, Dean pulled the rest of it around, covering Cas’s hand.

 

“Now, you can, uh, move your hand."

 

Cas moved his hand, and the bandage fell into place, holding the gauze snugly to his side. Dean reached his other arm around until he had completely encircled Cas’s waist. Their chests were nearly touching, Dean’s head hovering just to the right of Cas’s, and he felt the angel’s breath on his neck as he pulled the bandage around again, and then again, until all of the fabric had wrapped around his friend’s middle. Gently, he smoothed and pressed the velcro at the end of the bandage down, holding his hand at the small of Cas’s back.

 

Dean could feel his heart pounding in his chest. He looked down at the space between them, which had grown dangerously small, and his lungs failed to pull in enough oxygen as the air around them seemed to grow unbearably thin.

 

Shit.

 

Dean had to get himself out of here,  he’d let this go on too long. They’d crossed the boundary between friend-to-friend intimacy and entered something more objectionable long before Cas had lost the shirt, and they were quickly approaching a level of closeness Dean wasn’t sure his brain was prepared for.

 

“Have you … finished?”

 

Startled, Dean looked up at his friend.

“Um-” Dean said, before losing his train of thought.

 

Cas just looked so _pretty._ With those periwinkle blue eyes, and his perfect nose with nostrils flared ever so slightly, and the cutting jaw and high cheekbones, and his soft, sweet mouth …

 

Dean’s tongue darted out between his lips. Cas’s searching gaze was altered, his features changed with a mixture of confusion and realization. His eyebrows lifted, and he looked back and forth between Dean’s eyes.

 

Dean spoke again, only managing a strained whisper.

 

“Uh, yeah, think so.” He said, still taking in the angel.

 

It was then that the voice popped into his head. The voice was very familiar, as it was the same one that always managed to keep Dean from doing the things he tried so hard not to do --- such as openly enjoy chick flicks, talk about his feelings, ect. And thank God, too, because Dean was losing his damn mind.

 

This, right here, was a big no-no and Dean knew it. He never had and never would actually feel this way about another man, because it was all in his head, or a moment of weakness, or the beer and the blood loss, or something like that. Dean just didn’t have the equipment to experience the things he was experiencing, and so therefore there must be another explanation ---  and in the meantime, all he needed to do was let go of Cas, toss him his shirt, and turn in for the night.

 

Easy as pie.

 

He slowly lifted his hand from his friend’s back. Just as he did that, Cas seemed to grow concerned, tilting his head and looking intently at the hunter.

 

“Dean?” He said, his mouth moving so gracefully, his lips handling the word with reverence, and with care, and with … love.

 

Dean felt something inside himself shift.  A flood of pure determination and intent surged through his body, sending every rule, every statute, every boundary he’d ever set for himself crashing down.The hand he’d just pulled away he placed on the small of Cas’s back, pulling their bodies together, the sensation satiating and  thrilling at the same time ---  the other hand, he brought up and cupped around the base of Cas’s head. In one swift motion, he bridged the distance between them, and their mouths collided. Cas’s soft, sweet flesh against his own, and the world ceased to spin. Dean was shattered into a million pieces sent floating out in space, and yet he was more grounded than he’d ever felt before, as he held tightly to the man who smelt of the earth and tasted like a spice Dean couldn’t quite put his finger on.

The kiss was tender and caring, slow but lasting. Cas finally pulled away, shocked.

 

Dean felt the bliss drain away just as quickly as it had come.

 

* * *

_~End Of Part 3~_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the read! Kudos are _always_ appreciated, so if you liked it, hit that button, baby. And if you didn't, let me know --- I'm always looking for ways to improve my work. Suggestions are not only accepted, but encouraged. Comment them and I'll do my best to incorporate them! 
> 
> Stay tuned, the next chapter should be up in the next week or so. I'm still working on it. 
> 
> Have a great day! (And sorry for the cliffhanger, I'm a total ass.) :)


	4. Part Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You've read your plot, so now have some porn. 6000 words of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! 
> 
> Sorry this took so freakin' long to post, I've been busy moving into my new place. This must have been the most fun part to write as this fic was originally supposed to be mostly smut (but shocker --- I got all plotty.) So, I hope this extensive chapter of hot and a bit fluffy smut (along with the world's tiniest sprinkling of angst) is all your little destiel heart desires.
> 
> !!! DISCLAIMER !!!
> 
> Naughty Dean and Cassie participate in some unsafe sex practices, such as no use of protection and no hygienic preparation. This is, of course, under the presumption that Castiel can perform proper hygienic rituals and prevent the spread of STI's and STD's with his grace. But unless you are having sex with an angel, make sure to be safe -- for your sake, and your partner's, stay clean, get tested, and USE A CONDOM. Once that's down, you can go wild.

 

He’d  really screwed up this time. There was Cas, stunned and perturbed, and Dean half expected him to poof away, wings or not. 

 

What. The. Hell. 

 

He’d kissed him. He’d actually kissed him. The enormity of it all hit Dean like a ton of bricks, and he felt himself blush hot red. But, the flood of boyish embarrassment fizzled out just as soon as it surfaced, and he became suddenly, overwhelmingly angry. Angry at himself, angry at the dumbfounded angel in front of him, angry at the stupid fucking orange couch on the other wall. Angry at everything and nothing in particular. Cas still stood fixed to the carpet like Dean had turned him into a statue. He’d rejected Dean, and Dean couldn’t blame him. But he did blame him. For being his friend, for being so fucking clueless and so fucking attractive and so fucking  _ Cas, _ and for being the receiver of affections Dean never meant to share. Dean looked one more time at the blue eyes that had ruined him, feeling his own face grow stony; and the distance between them, which had been nonexistent not a minute ago, felt impossible to bridge. Dean looked away.

 

“I’m a stupid son of a bitch --- but you, Castiel, are a child.” Dean spat, the venom of his words stinging his tongue.

 

Cas cringed at the sound of his full name on Dean’s lips, but he didn’t move. It was only when Dean began to walk past that Cas snapped out of his trance.

 

“Dean?” Cas called, turning.

 

“Forget it,” Dean seethed, grabbing his keys from the table, too mad to care that he didn’t have a coat.

 

“Dean!” Cas repeated, his voice becoming more insistent.

 

Dean stormed to the door, ignoring his friend. He was unsure of what he would do once he got out, but it didn’t really matter. He grabbed the knob and turned it, ready to get as far away from this motel as he possibly could. 

But, just as he was about to open the door, he felt a set of hands grab his shoulders from behind. They spun Dean around as if he weighed 20 pounds and not 200, flattening his form against the the door. Fiery blue eyes met his, rivaling those he had seen the night he and the angel met, and they seemed to burrow right into him as Cas’s hands gripped his arms with incredible strength.

 

“Dean.” Cas growled in his ear, his voice sending shivers down Dean’s spine.

 

And then Cas was on him, his hands grabbing Dean’s face as he lunged, kissing his with thirst and determination, overpowering Dean’s senses with carnal desire and sweet, sweet closure. All this time, he was so lost, so arrogant and closed-minded to really see what he had right in front of him; what was just in his reach. Now, here Cas was--- his friend, protector, companion, brother in arms, and family --- returning something Dean would never have dreamed they could have. He melted into the angel, the rough kiss deepening as he let himself go; Cas delved on, moving his lips hungrily, Dean’s eyes fluttering shut as Cas began to suck on his bottom lip. Dean had never felt this way before. He was suddenly beneath the stronger arms of a dominant partner, and he was lost. He feared relinquishing control when it was all he knew, but as Cas’s tongue swept through their lips and his hands brushed through Dean’s hair, he found he was faring just fine. Funny, what trust can do.

 

Dean snaked his arm up around Cas, looking for something to hold onto for dear life, because if he didn’t, he feared he would fall into the void that threatened to swallow him whole. He landed on Cas’s naked shoulder blade, and ran his hand over his friend’s back, which felt deliciously solid and firm. His other hand flew up to touch Cas’s jaw, which he cupped. 

 

Kissing a man, Dean thought, was so different that kissing a woman --- each movement, each change in pressure, Dean felt was like a frantic struggle to claim the other, to consume one another, like they were searching each other for a deeper and deeper connection. It was the same give and take Dean knew so well when he was with a woman, but with a stronger, more equal presence. Soft, supple lips contrasted with the brush of rough stubble against his own, and he breathed in Cas’s scent, savory and keen and so very different from flowery perfume he was used to. Cas’s nose swept against his own as the angel devoured him, and the familiarity of it all overtook Dean --- he’d never had this with someone whom he knew so well and cared for so deeply before, and it just felt right that Cas, his closest friend and trusted companion, should fill up that hole in his life so perfectly. It was meant to be.

 

Now, Dean knew that was fluffy, romantic, utter nonsense. He was swept up in the moment, and he really didn’t give a damn. In the future, if whatever this was stuck, he would deny ever thinking anything like that; but, for now, his IQ shrinking as his lust grew, Dean let himself believe.

 

The kiss let up, and he felt Cas move his lips away. Dean opened his eyes and found Cas watching him, his pupils dilated and sensual and almost predatory.

 

“Cas.” Dean pleaded, his voice rough and almost squeaky.

 

Cas smiled an impossibly chaste and incredibly uncharacteristic smile, before diving towards Dean, kissing along his jaw and to his ear, tasting the skin on his neck as Dean threw his head back. Cas was making the most carnal sound: a low, dark rumble from the very back of his throat, and Dean grasped desperately at the angel’s mess of dark hair, his hips rolling instinctually up to meet him. 

 

At this, Cas froze, pulling up to look at the hunter. His self assurance wavered and he swiftly became flustered, undoubtedly feeling Dean’s arousal. Suddenly, the angel seemed lost as to what he was supposed to do next. It was Dean’s turn to lead. He considered the angel before tracing his fingers down Cas’s back, his hand stopping just above the curve of his ass. He pulled them together, and Cas’s eyes widened with comprehension and fervor.

 

Cas’s gaze raked over Dean, looking for confirmation. 

 

“Are you sure?” Cas asked, slowly. 

 

“Yeah, I’m sure.” Said Dean

 

Cas was unconvinced.

 

“Are you sure you are sure? If we continue on this path, there is no turning back. I don’t want to take advantage.”

 

Dean let out a breathy laugh.

 

“Just shut up and fuck me, angel.”

 

At his words, Cas seemed to be struck by lightning --- and he pounced, exploring Dean with his lips, confident once again as he moved deliberately but desperately, turning Dean to putty in his hands as they grated together.  Dean couldn’t get enough of Cas’s taste (which he decided was an intoxicating combination of cinnamon and fresh pepper,) and searched closed-eyed for the angel’s mouth. Cas obliged, and again they kissed, tongues wrestling like they were a pair of teenagers. The angel bowed his hips up to Dean’s, and Dean was flooded with excitement and disbelief when he felt a bulge in his friend’s sweatpants to rival his own. 

 

_ Didn’t know angels got boners, _ Dean thought drunkenly, savoring the sensations of the fabric of their pants rubbing against the other’s erections

 

“Take off --- mm, yeah --- uh, take off ---my shirt.” Dean groaned between kisses, and Cas bit his lip, which were swollen and bright pink from Dean’s advances.   

 

Cas then lowered himself, pushing away the fabric of Dean’s shirt, carefully tracing a line with his tongue up Dean’s abdomen as he lifted the t-shirt to reveal more and more skin. Dean lifted his arms, and he marvelled at the angel’s defined muscle he’d never have guessed was there as Cas stripped the shirt off of him. Cas held Dean’s arms up against the door, coming dangerously close to his lips before pulling away, denying Dean the kiss. Cas was playing with him now. The angel pulled back a bit, to get a better look at the hunter he had laid out in front of him; his skin light and dotted with freckles, dusty blondish hair disarranged and cheeks flushed. Cas moved from Dean’s wrists and Dean dropped his arms. Cas’s hand hovered, his fingers twitching by Dean’s right bicep before they fell, clasping the very spot where he’d marked Dean in Hell, all those years ago. The angel seemed to hold a silent reverence for the human before him, gazing as if he’d never seen such a miracle, and as if he feared one wrong move and he’d break the person in his grasp. 

 

But Dean just wanted to get it on.

 

“C’mon man, I’m not made of glass.” He half growled, half whined, growing impatient.

 

Cas smiled, forgetting himself.

 

“What?” Dean defended.

 

“Nothing,” Cas said, amused. “You’re just very bossy.”

 

Dean opened his mouth to argue, but his words were swallowed by another kiss. Every inch of Cas was now pressed against him, hot flesh against hot flesh, a mess of wandering hands and just the right amount of teeth. The hunter couldn’t resist but to reach below Cas’s belt in a search for further confirmation. And conformation he got --- the angel was rock hard as he grinded into Dean’s hand, reminding Dean that this was in fact real and actually happening, and that he’d never really done this before. To think of it, as far as he knew, neither had Cas. So how on earth was Cas doing this like a fucking pro? Maybe another angel thing. Dean didn’t know. Meanwhile, Cas seemed keen on laying claim to every inch of flesh on Dean’s body, lapping up every droplet of sweat he could find and replacing it with a brush of his lips or a flick of his tongue. 

 

Cas had flipped him around onto the wall, and had fitted himself perfectly against the curve of Dean’s back. One hand had once again taken Dean’s wrists, holding them against the wall above his head, the other spread on his back, thumb along his spine as Cas moved it up to feel more of Dean’s back, successfully pinning Dean down. Cas was stuck to him like glue, savoring the new position and taking full advantage, kissing and sucking Dean’s shoulders and the nape of his neck; and, meanwhile, Dean was lost in the feeling of the hard line of Cas’s erection against his ass, curving back for more. Cas took the hint with eagerness, grinding against the hunter and coaxing sweet moans from his throat.

 

It wasn’t until Cas moved his hand to Dean’s side before Dean remembered.

 

“Fuck, I forgot! You’re hurt!” Dean gasped as he turned to face Cas, kicking himself for being so careless.

 

Cas stepped back, his features becoming less sex crazed and more aware. He looked down at the bandage.

 

“It’s fine Dean, it healed.” Cas unwrapped the bandage to reveal untouched skin. “And you’ve healed, as well.” He added, nodding to Dean’s arm. “My grace has recovered substantially.”

 

Dean looked over in surprise, finding the gash he’d never addressed and subsequently forgotten about was gone.

 

“But, how?” He asked, rubbing his bicep.

 

“Honestly, I’m not sure.” The angel contemplated. “All of this --- activity --- must have something to do with it.”

 

“Activity?” Dean said, incredulous.

 

“What do you want me to say?”

 

“Dunno, man, something less prude-ish.”

 

“Noted for future occasions.”

 

“Wise-ass.”

 

Dean grinned at the angell, who struggled to seem unamused.

 

“Okay, enough interruptions.” Cas declared, taking Dean and turning him about, pushing him towards the bed. “Now, take off your pants.”

 

Dean protested.

 

“Now wait a minute.You don’t wanna figure out how your mojo was magically recharged?” 

 

“Dean.”

 

“But ---”

 

“Dean. I said,  _ take off your pants.” _

 

His friend’s tone had turned dangerous, and Dean found himself complying without another question. Cas had become Castiel, Angel of The Lord, powerful and unequivocal, a force to be reckoned with --- and it excited Dean more than just about anything he’d ever experienced. While untying his drawstring, Dean watched Cas, taking in the crossed arms and messy hair, the eyes glowing grace bright in the dim-lit room. Cas raised an eyebrow, and Dean hurried the pace, dropping his flannel pajamas, leaving only the navy boxers he’d thrown on after his shower. He stood breathless, feeling sort of pathetic as he waited for Cas to make his move. Cas didn’t budge.

 

He regarded Dean with a look of pure lust before opening his mouth to speak.

 

“I don’t believe you are done yet, Dean.”

 

If Dean’s heart wasn’t beating out of his chest before, it was now. He put a thumb under the waistband of his boxers, fumbling. Dean regretted being too far gone to put on a half-decent strip show. But Cas didn’t seem to mind. The angel watched him impatiently, and Dean slowly removed his last layer of clothing, pulling them just below his hips, revealing his hip bones and a delicious “V,”  and a light brown treasure trail very close to hitting gold. He pulled them down, further, further, until his cock bounced free --- and Castiel reanimated, and was on him before the boxers hit the floor. Dean was thrown back onto the bed behind him, legs splayed out, an ardent angel looming over him and swooping down to kiss him passionately. Cas moved to kiss him along his jaw, and then his neck, and then his chest, swirling his hot tongue around Dean’s right nipple; and then continued down, grazing his teeth over the bow of Dean’s stomach, licking to his navel, kissing lower, and lower, and lower ---

 

Dean braced himself for what he thought was next. But Cas had surpassed his straining cock for the soft flesh of Dean’s inner thigh, making himself busy with claiming his territory with his lips. The nerves in every part of Dean’s body had come to full attention, making everywhere Cas came in contact with infuriatingly hot and thrilled. But Cas’s head between his legs, stimulating every bit of skin that laid their besides what really counted, moving close, so close, and the pulling away like a cruel game of cat and mouse, was more maddening than Dean could handle.

 

His face screwed up, chest shuddering and then heaving, the hand that was wound into Cas’s hair pulling so hard that he could barely believe the angel was unphased.

 

“Cas .... nng… fuck.” Dean blubbered, writhing. “ Just… ah --- mmm, please.”

 

With that, Cas stopped, pleased with his work.

 

“Of course.” He conceded, and raised himself onto his elbows.

 

“You know, Dean, you really are quite a beautiful creature.”

 

Cas held Dean’s hips, shifting them up for a better angle --- and once the angel was satisfied, he turned his attention to the sizable erection nearly flat against Dean’s belly. Dean watched, enraptured, as Cas’s pink tongue finally made contact, licking a line from the base of his shaft all the way up to the head, sending electricity shooting through Dean’s lower body. The angel proceeded to circle his tongue around the head of Dean’s cock, taking his fingers around the shaft and massaging it so it would point straight up, paying special attention to the underside of Dean’s corona and the sensitive spot that laid there before he moved his mouth up to kiss the tip, lapping up the pearl of precum with delicate bunny licks.

 

“Where  _ on earth _ did you learn how to do that?” Dean marveled, now holding tight to his friend’s shoulders.

 

Cas didn’t answer, instead taking the opportunity to bob his head down, taking Dean in in one swift motion. Dean’s eyes bulged as he found himself deep in Cas’s hot, wet mouth, the angel’s pretty lips stretched around his girth; but it didn’t last --- Cas came off again, making a lewd popping sound.

 

“You sonuvabitch.” Dean grunted as Cas moved his head once again to pepper Dean’s legs with more bruises.

 

“Patience.” Cas murmured, his eyes flashing. 

 

Without warning, Cas then bit flesh on the innermost part of Dean’s thigh, sending sparks across Dean’s vision. He dug his nails hard into the angel’s shoulders, undoubtedly leaving some marks. By morning they would both probably look like they’ve been a few rounds with a wood chipper. At the moment, Dean could care less--- as the angel looming over his groin once again dove down, working his tongue mirthlessly around Dean’s cock, his blue eyes gazing up at the hunter through a dark curtain of lashes. One of Cas’s hands twisted around the base of Dean’s cock, moving in time with Cas’s mouth, which bobbed up and down with incredible enthusiasm. Dean no longer even attempted to hold himself so he could keep a good grip on Cas --- so he melted back onto the lumpy motel mattress, closing his eyes as he let out a low, earthy moan, feeling heat grow in his core as he savored the rough friction of his friend’s hand along side his soft, wet mouth. Just as Dean nearly hit the edge, Cas pulled his hand away, his tongue replacing it as it ran up and down Dean’s shaft; now, Cas’s hand drifted lower, fondling Dean’s balls, stimulating his scrotum, and the encountering a strip of skin that Dean had never,  _ ever  _ let anyone come close to. Dean froze, his limbs stiffening as a foreign object exerted pressure on a very sensitive area.

 

Once again, Cas read his mind.

 

“Do you trust me?” He asked, propping himself up the look at Dean. “For me to continue, I need your trust. I need you to trust me.”

 

Dean watched Cas, the alarms that had been wailing in his head seeming to grow further away. He knew well that he could never be prepared for this --- he could never open himself up that way to anybody. That wasn’t who he was. But, everything had changed so quickly. Dean wasn’t stupid --- of course he had figured out by now that he was the bottom in this rendezvous, which was, to say the least, pretty confusing for the hunter. Also, apparently, Cas was a Bad Motherfucker when it came to sex, which confused him further. Still, the fact remained he just couldn’t give to anyone what Cas had proposed. He just couldn’t.

 

_ But he trusted Cas.  _

 

_ He trusted Cas with the world. _

 

_ And he trusted Cas with himself. _

 

“I would never hurt you.” Cas assured. “And, this is, of course, your choice.”

 

The angel gave him his full attention 

 

“Do you trust me?” Cas said, looking Dean right in the eye.

 

Dean let out a long, shaky breath, and nodded.

Cas then climbed up him until they were face to face, and he leaned in to give Dean a brief, passionate kiss. Despite its simplicity, butterflies filled Dean’s stomach. Cas climbed back down, again putting his face between Dean’s legs, pressing his tongue to the skin below Dean’s testicles, letting it drift back at forth lazily, before sliding up forcefully; and then back again, caressing the silky skin with the end of his tongue. Dean whimpered, cock twitching as Cas closed his hand back around it and began to rub Dean’s tip. Cas then grazed Dean’s entrance experimentally, and Dean’s insides seized --- flooded with alien sensation and cautious pleasure. This seemed to ripple into the angel, who let out a stifled groan against Dean, the vibration causing another chain reaction the rocked Dean to his very center. Cas seemed to be able to restrain himself no longer. Dean felt an unforgiving tongue probe the delicate folds of skin around his opening before licking into the tight ring of muscle, sending pressure waves through Dean’s abdomen as Cas pushed deeper with every plunge, testing Dean’s limits. Dean clawed into the bed sheets, his eyes flying open as his body tried desperately to adapt, blood rushing hot through his veins as Cas’s onslaught became ever more intense. The hunter had never been rimmed before; it just wasn’t his scene. But, now, he wanted it every day for the rest of his fucking life.

 

“Lube.” Dean grunted.

 

Cas pushed himself from the bed, and Dean was suddenly and regretfully without the heat of his friend’s body. But the regret was not long lived, as the angel was back in seconds with an open bottle of Astroglide in hand, his eyes dark with want. He uncapped the bottle, drizzling a generous amount over Dean’s groin before tossing it aside. Dean gasped as the cool liquid stung his heated skin, and Cas quickly put his hands back on Dean, massaging the lubrication across Dean’s lower body, giving Dean’s cock a few pumps before he worked some of the oil into his ass; and then, the angel draped himself over Dean, sucking and licking his collarbone as he traced his finger around Dean’s hole. Dean gasped, feeling something enter him.

 

”Are you alright?” A voice murmured near his ear, deep and rough.

 

“Uh--- yeah, yes. ‘M fine” Dean stuttered, twisting his fingers through his friend’s dark mop of hair.

 

Slowly, bit by bit, knuckle by knuckle, Cas loosened Dean, all the while worshipping Dean’s neck and clavicle, finding every freckle that dotted the hunter’s skin. Soon, Cas could slide in and out more easily, and pressure merged with friction as Cas fingered him --- but,none of it compared to the moment the angel curved his fingers and found Dean’s prostate.

 

“FUCK.” 

 

Dean’s toes curled, guts doing a cartwheel as the new sensations became suddenly much more pleasurable.Dean hadn’t really ever understood penetration until right then, and again, and again, and again, as Cas made sure to hit Dean’s sweet spot each time he thrust in his fingers.

 

_ So this is what it’s like to be a girl,  _  Dean thought listlessly.

 

“I assure you, Dean, vaginal penetration is very much different from anal penetration, for both partners.” Cas said, voice sincere

 

“What? You’re reading my mind, now?” Dean chided, eyeing the angel.

 

Cas looked sheepish. “Possibly.”

 

“Yeah? Well, quit it.” Dean retorted.

 

“My apologies.” Said Cas. “You’re just thinking … very …  _ loudly.” _

 

Dean rolled his eyes. 

 

“Don’t know what that means, but whatever. Let’s get this show back on the road.”

 

Th angel obliged. Cas had taken away his finger, and was now running his hands over Dean’s chest, feeling the hard ridges and smooth planes of muscle and skin. He then took Dean’s arms and held them above his head, rocking and bucking his hips against the man beneath him, grinding their cocks together, which were now only separated by Cas’s sweatpants. Dean whined, helplessly aroused by the thought of another man’s dick so close to his own --- it was so wanton, so primal, and it had Dean getting dangerously close. 

 

“Wait! Wait!” Dean said, doing his best to think through the fog of the approaching orgasm that filled his head. “Not yet. It’s your turn.”

 

Cas’s eyes widened as he understood, pushing off of Dean so Dean sit up. They weren’t separate for long --- and as soon as Dean was upright they were rejoined, kissing and groping each other, a whirlwind of hands and moans that lifted from the bed, flew over the carpet, and slammed into the motel room wall, sending the lamp crashing to the floor. Now, the only light left came through the window, outlining their figures and lighting up the edges and angles of Cas’s face softly. 

 

“Knees.” Cas commanded, his voice gruff, more gruff than usual. Cas’s pitch sent Dean’s knees buckling, suddenly too weak to support him. Once he was down, Dean stared at Cas’s beautiful, sharp hipbones, and then kissed them and licked them, scraping his teeth, wanting to leave a mark, wanting to make them his. He heard Cas hiss above him, and felt a hand push down on his head until he has level with the angel’s groin. Dean palmed Cas’s erection, which had created a noticeable bulge in his sweatpants, finding it was incredibly and impossibly hard.

 

“Did I really do this?” Dean quipped, smirking at his friend. Cas didn’t take the bait.

“Take them off.” Cas ordered.

 

For once in his life, Dean did exactly as he was told --- and he bit into the waistband of Cas’s borrowed sweatpants, dragging the fabric down with his teeth. Cas hadn’t worn any boxers, which would have normally tee’d Dean off (Gross! They’re  _ my  _ pants, dammit!) , but right now, he didn’t give a rat’s ass. Because as soon as he’d worked Cas’s waistband low enough, Dean was rewarded with a  _ gorgeous  _ view.

 

"Ho-lee- _ damn,  _ Jimmy Novak. You lucky son of a bitch."

 

Because, well, Cas was  _ packing.  _ It wasn’t obvious through wool slacks, but it was sure as hell obvious now --- and Dean couldn’t help but wonder if he’d be able to manage to fit something like that in his mouth. That got him thinking; about how he’d never really done anything like this, at least with a conscious effort. The two or three men he’d sucked off had been late at night and fuelled with drunkenness and the promise of a twenty; and Dean had barely remembered anything in the morning, except unpleasant smells and an unsavory taste in his mouth. But the shame and humiliation hadn’t been drowned by alcohol, and it made those experiences far beyond unsettling and bordering on sickening. So, Dean was going into this with close to zero skills and some unfavorable history. But he refused to be daunted. He new perfectly well what his mouth was capable of --- ask any girl he’d ever slept with, and they would tell you. And, anyways, Cas smelled delicious.

 

“Ah- unghh.” Cas groaned as Dean took his head into his mouth.

 

Dean didn't waste any time. He used his mouth to the best of it's ability --- copying every move that someone had used on him successfully, and applying it to the angel standing over him. He barely bothered with the shaft of Cas's dick --- wanting to break Cas down, hear him beg before he made his move -- and so Dean focused solely on the tip, flicking his tongue teasingly, sucking just the head of Cas's cock before pulling back, licking up the drops of saliva he'd left. And God, was it working. Cas shuddered against the wall, the most ungodly of sounds issuing from his mouth - a broken up string of moans and disconnected syllables, and the occasional curse word that sounded extra dirty coming from an angel. Dean felt the hand on the back of head helplessly push ever so slightly; not wanting to force Dean down, but still craving the gratification of Dean's lips where they refused to go.

 

“Dean---” Cas bleated, his voice strangled and wrought with frustration. Dean grinned, triumphant. Man, did he love this. Dean had always had a bit of an oral fixation: chewing pens, drinking beer bottles a little too enthusiastically; hell, he’d sucked his thumb ‘till he was eight. There was something wonderful about having something in his mouth, but nothing had ever come close to the feeling of a cock between his lips --- warm, sensitive flesh filling his mouth on which he could put his oral talent to work, sweet, debauched sounds from his friends as his reward. He could do this  _ forever. _

 

But he was interrupted by a hand, which had taken his chin and lifted it up until his eyes met blue.

 

“No more games,” Cas growled, speaking low. But his intent was clear --- Dean was a tease, and Cas was fed up. But Dean wanted to toy with him for a bit longer.

 

“Okay. So you want to play Dom?” Dean baited. “Then use me.”

 

Cas narrowed his eyes.

 

A mischievous smile played at Dean’s lips

 

“Take control.  _ Fuck my face.”  _

 

Cas’s eyes were unsure at first, but he wasn’t one to be told twice. The angel grabbed the sides of Dean’s head, and slowly, very slowly, moved his hips forward, sliding his cock deep into Dean’s mouth, then hunter purring as Cas filled his mouth completely.

 

“ _ Ra itaa - Kua a ael ---”  _  Cas gasped, in what Dean could only assume was Enochian. Whatever it was, it was  _ hot.  _

  
  


Cas pulled out and thrust back in, Dean’s lips stretched to their limit, his mouth gloriously full of Cas’s cock. Moaning, the angel picked up his pace, his hips moving almost mechanically, and Dean watched Cas’s body move in awe, each muscle tight and straining and moving just as it was supposed to, and Dean lowered his hand to stroke himself. Dean’s cock weeped as Cas drove in and out, his tongue slipping frantically, wanting to taste the thick shaft that swelled in his mouth. 

 

“No.” Cas seemed to insist to himself just as his hips began to jerk.

 

The angel pulled out, letting his hands fall from Dean’s head.

 

“Wait a minute---” Dean started, when Cas grabbed him by the shoulders and hauled him up to full height. Cas grasped Dean’s hips, pulling him in, crashing their lips together, and Dean whimpered as their bare cocks slide against one another.

 

“Fuck, Cas,” Dean said against the angel’s lips.

 

Cas grabbed Dean’s ass, a finger sliding between his cheeks and over Dean’s hole. Dean trembled as his friend rocked against him, biting Dean’s earlobe before whispering into his ear:

 

“Want to be inside of you, Dean.”

 

Cas’s words lit Dean’s insides on fire, his mind nearly shutting down with aphrodisia. Dean no longer cared that it was “wrong,” or “humiliating,” or “unthinkable;” or anything he’d convinced himself this behavior was for the sake of preserving his fragile concept of masculinity. Now it was just him, and Cas, and what he wanted. Because he wanted it --- so, very, bad.

 

“Okay.” Dean breathed, his own voice sounding far away. “Okay.”

 

The angel pushed them from the wall, haphazardly working his pants the rest of the way off as he tossed the pair of them back onto the bed, slamming the headboard into the wall they shared with the next room. But neither of them had time to worry about bothering their neighbors --- anyways, the noise would only get worse before it got better. 

 

Dean was under Cas once again, looking up into his friend’s eyes as their hands joined, fingers intertwining above his head; and Cas’s other hand reached down to ease the hunter open, scissoring in and out, adding fingers and working Dean’s tight opening, all the while looking straight into the hunter’s eyes. Dean felt himself flushing red, overcome with affection for the man hovering over him --- suddenly and entirely aware of just how intimate this was, shocked by the nuance of giving himself to someone he cared for so deeply, so completely; knowing how he’d wasted years looking for this in midnight rendezvous and stints with beautiful strangers, never finding  _ this,  _ that had been right here, the entire time.

 

“Are you ready?”

 

“Yes.”

 

As the angel lowered himself onto the hunter, Dean felt wonderful, incredible pressure between his legs; and Cas coaxed open Dean’s entrance, pressing through the tight ring of muscle and into the silky heat of Dean’s belly. Filled to the brink, Dean Winchester came undone - his thoughts had deteriorated into the intermittent sparks of neurons, his skin just a fireworks show of sensation and warmth, his vision just a dark mess of perpetual bedhead and a bright sea of blue - mixing together into one and making his vision blur around the edges. Cas didn’t pull out right away, instead just gyrating his hips, driving Dean insane with the friction. They stayed that way for what seemed like an eternity --- joined, panting, staring at one another, neither willing to move lest they lose their connection. Then Cas pulled out, and slammed back into Dean, hitting Dean’s prostate with supernatural accuracy. The hunter shouted, his vision going white. Cas groaned as Dean seized up around him and instinctively pressed in deeper before bottoming out, Dean’s insides twisting with pleasure, and then protesting as Cas’s cock retreated once again. Over and over the angel thrust into him, hitting Dean’s sweet spot every other go, his pace still agonizingly slow.

 

“Faster, Cas!” Dean insisted through gritted teeth, wiggling like a puppy beneath his friend.

 

And so Cas steadily quickened his movements, sliding in and out of Dean’s hole and with wanton moans. Dean could  _ not _ process the slew of new sensations that coursed through him--- he felt so full he feared he may overflow, and his cock cried with pleasure as it was grinded between his and Cas’s abdomens, smearing a generous flow of precum across their stomachs, amplifying the slippery feeling of their naked bodies moving in tandem with one another. The angel began to move even faster, and Dean had no choice but to lock his ankles up around Cas’s back, bending himself in such a way that Cas hammered into his prostate with nearly every thrust.

 

“Ah - uh -  _ fuck - ah -  _ shit - SHIT!” Dean yelled, no longer attempting to muffle his sounds. This seemed to spur Cas on, who dove in to suck a hickey onto Dean’s neck as he continued to pound him, making the most lewd slapping sound as their bodies crashed together. The whole bed now rocked with them, creaking and shifting, and the headboard slammed into the wall --- hard enough, Dean thought vaguely, to break through and toss the bed into the next room. Dean began to see stars as Cas fucked his brains out, convinced his angelic friend had tapped into some mojo to gain such an edge; and he felt heat gathering in his middle growing and cresting. Cas was beginning to frenzy as well --- moaning wantonly, he teeth gritted together and eyes screwed shut, trying desperately to fend off his orgasm. Dean did the same, but it was too much, and he helplessly felt himself lurch closer and closer each time Cas hit his prostate.

 

“So -- close, buddy.” He said, only then hearing how odd his nickname for his friend sounded in this context. He’d have to come up with something more fitting.

 

Cas muttered something inaudible in Enochian, seeming to have lost the ability to speak English.

 

Dean lifted the hand not entwined in Cas’s, and reached for Cas’s head. They met in the middle, kissing one last time, licking into each other's mouths desperately, searching one another, both men wrecked with passion and sensation. And as Cas opened his eyes, Dean was gone --- his insides burst with ecstasy as his cock spilled over their skin, coming with such power that every muscle and nerve in his body trembled with wave after wave of electrical intensity, reducing Dean’s mind to a shattered pile of glass. He had screamed, almost like an animal, clamping hard around Cas’s cock. Cas fucked him through his orgasm, quickly losing his rhythm as his hips lurched until he came himself.

 

“Ka E-Elo!”Cas yelled, and Dean felt the flood of Cas’s come deep into his belly.

 

The angel flopped on top of Dean as the last of the strength drained from their bodies. Cas’s cock had softened but was still buried inside of Dean, tying the pair of them together, and their chests heaved, random sparks of pleasure left from their orgasms still bouncing around between them; and they felt less separate, and more part of one whole. Dean breathed in Cas’s scent. He’d never come so hard in his life. And he wasn’t being cliche --- not at all. He had  _ literally _ cummed harder than he had in his  _ entire fucking life.  _ ‘

 

“Cas?”

 

“Yes?”

 

“Let’s go to bed. We can share.”

 

Grunting, Cas slid out of and off of Dean, rolling next to him and Dean immediately felt chillier without his friend on top of him. Cas touched Dean’s stomach, cleaning the both of them off.

 

“Dammit, Cas, I wanted to take a shower in the morning … with you.” He teased.

 

“Oh.” Cas said. “My apologies.”

 

Dean smiled. “Just kidding. It’s fine.”

 

“Okay.”

 

Cas climbed under the scratchy motel sheets, wriggling to get the comforter just right. Dean had folded his arms behind his head, and was staring up at the ceiling.

 

Cas turned to Dean.

 

“So, how was I?” The angel asked, tilting his head “Did I do alright?”

 

Dean looked over at his friend, smiling once again. 

 

“Are you kidding me? Freakin’  _ amazing.  _ You rocked my world, man.”

 

Dean chuckled.

 

“What’s so funny?” Cas said, eyebrows together.

 

“I dunno, man. Just us. All these years we were such idiots. My head too far up my ass to figure my shit out. But it was bound to happen eventually, I guess. Too much staring, touching, unspoken crap or whatever. It only took us a decade.”

 

Dean laughed and stretched his legs.

 

“But, seriously? Now? We’ve had so many more opportunities that make a whole lot more sense. Like, how ‘bout all the times we were gonna die? The times we did die? I even told you I wasn’t gonna let you die a virgin, perfect opportunity. Or in purgatory. No, it was too gross to bang. But hell did I want to kiss you. And when you got back, and got into your getup? Man, the world’s worst boner. Or, how ‘bout when I got back to the bunker with Mom after the Amara thing? When you frickin’ leapt on me? How did I not figure it out? And you scared the crap out of me in Bobby’s kitchen than one time --- woulda' loved to have messed around with (in a deep, gravelly voice)  _ Castiel, Angel of the Lord.   _ God, I’m such an idiot. So, what does that make me? Bisexual? Probably. Although, I still don’t think I wanna broadcast that to the world just yet, I’m still getting used to it.  _ I can’t believe it.  _  We actually did that. And just because I was giving you some sort of accidental hug while bandaging your wounds? How fuckin’ lame. Oh yeah, and what’s with the magical-sex-healing-powers thing? Because it’s a bit weird. And I was wonde---”

Dean was cut short by another heated, passionate kiss.

 

“What was that for?” Dean gasped, looking at his friend.

 

“You talk too much.” Cas said. “Now, let’s go to sleep.”

Begrudgingly, Dean joined Cas beneath the sheets, curling up against his friend. No longer was there anything sexual --- it was just their bodies, pressed together and sharing warmth, and Cas turned to fit himself against his hunter. The last thing Dean remembered before falling asleep was the rise and fall of Castiel’s chest, and an arm draped over him, holding him tight.

 

* * *

_ ~ End of Part 4 ~ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for reading! This was my first real try at smut, so I hope it wasn't too bad. The next (and final) chapter should take about a week, but I'm really going to try and crank it out for you guys. Also, I'm bummed this story is coming to a close! I would love to write more about this, and if you want a sequel, comment a smiley face or some shit. I just want to make sure somebody will read it if I write it.
> 
> And one more thing! Here's a reference for the Enochian in this chapter (I've been studying it, and wanted to incorporate some basic phrases) :
> 
> ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
> Ra itaa kua a ael 
> 
> Phonetics: Ra i ta a kua a ay el 
> 
> Enochian words: RITA QAAL
> 
> English Translation: Mercy of The Creator
> 
> ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
> Ka E-Elo
> 
> Phonetics: ka e e lo
> 
> Enochian Words: C ELO
> 
> English Translation: Oh God
> 
>  
> 
> Peace out, Bitches!


	5. Part Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the gap between updates--- yes, I know, I am an utterly awful person. But the little sliver of a soul that I still have insisted I finish this for you guys. This is the final chapter, and there is a prologue to come :)

For once, Dean wasn’t woken up by his nightmares or the screaming of an alarm clock --- instead, Dean awoke to the sun filtering through half-closed blinds, casting lines of of light and shadow that moved slowly over the orange floral bedspread. He blinked, squinting sleepily as the sunlight filled his eyes, curling back into himself and into the warmth of the covers, revelling in the wonderful buttery feeling between his legs. It was then that Dean registered the arm snaked around his middle, hugging his naked skin; and the solid body behind him, conformed to his own position, fitting into him like a puzzle piece. The events of the night before came back to him, bit by bit, and Dean found he didn’t regret much --- he was surprised, sure, but as for right now, he was at peace with what had happened and what it meant for them. The only thing he was unhappy about at the moment was having ended up being the little spoon. That bastard.

 

Cas’s breath tickled his neck, and Dean could still hear quiet snores from the angel. As slowly as he could, Dean worked his way out from under Cas’s arm, shifting until he laid on his back, and he turned his head to the side to get a better look at his friend. Cas looked--- well, he looked, _cute._ Dean felt odd using such a descriptor for Cas, but it was really the only one that applied --- face squashed against his pillow, his eyebrows unfurled for once, his dark lashes against his cheeks, and  mouth lolling open slightly and whistling softly each time he exhaled, made him look downright _a_ _dorable._  Dean wanted to kiss him.

 

He stayed like that for a while, just watching Cas sleep, now understanding the draw to do so. He wondered how many times Cas had done the same for him, and pushed the thought away --- deciding he probably didn’t want to know. Minutes ticked by, and the angel began to stir --- reassuming his slight frown, mewing like a kitten as he stretched his limbs and flipped onto his back as well, reaching up to scratch his perpetual bed head. Dean waited patiently, and soon his friend’s eyes blinked open, blue as ever and peering right back at him.

 

“Dean.” He said, a soft smile tugging at his features.

 

“Mornin’ bud.” Dean answered. “So, you and me, huh?”

 

“You and me.” Cas agreed.

 

Dean chuckled, finding the domestic-ness of all of this very amusing. He wasn’t sure why. Grunting, he rolled over, flopping onto Cas and successfully pinning him down with his weight; eliciting a rather indignant squawk from the angel who wriggled in protest.

 

“Why’d you roll on top of me?” Cas groaned, having gone limp in resignation.

 

“‘Cause.”

 

“Because why?”

 

“‘Cause I felt like it.”

 

“Well, get off.” Cas huffed.

 

Dean cracked a shit-eating grin.

 

“What’s the magic word?” He teased.

 

Cas made a face.

 

“I’m not going to recite an incantation to remove you from my body, Dean.”

 

Dean raised an eyebrow.

 

“That was a joke, wasn’t it?”

 

“Yes, Dean, that was a joke.”

 

Dean shuffled his arms, taking one hand that had supported his chin above Cas and using it to brush some flyaway hair from Cas’s forehead.

 

“Well, then what’s the magic word?”

 

Cas scoffed.

 

“Please.” The angel grumbled, shooting a Sam-worthy bitch face Dean’s way.

 

“Sure thing. But you’ll have to kiss me first.”

 

Cas rolled his eyes, craning his neck up to plant a wet, warm kiss on Dean’s lips. Dean didn’t move a muscle.

 

Cas looked at Dean scornfully. “I thought you’d get off of me if I kissed you.”

 

Dean cracked another grin.

 

“Changed my mind.”

 

Cas wasn’t amused.

 

“Ass.” He said under his breath.

 

“Did you just call me an ass?”

 

“No.”

 

And with that, Dean kissed Cas in return --- sloppy and lackadaisical, both of them tasting like morning breath, but it was good all the same. Cas pushed off from the bed, trying to throw Dean, managing to keep their lips locked together, and Dean held his ground as their sleepy wrestling match slash makeout session twisted the sheets around their naked bodies. Dean could hear birds out the window, and he wondered the time, but he didn’t care to break away and investigate. Their soft kisses grew more heated, and their hands began to wander --- not hungrily, but curiously --- feeling each other’s skin and noting the sensitive areas that made the other shiver with delight; and fingertips, not nails, traced lines over the muscle on each other’s backs. Eventually, Dean’s hand slipped down to Cas’s lap, fingers searching blindly until they found a bulge of warm flesh, still limp but flushing with blood, and Dean stroked it gently, making the angel gasp against his mouth. His own half-erection was pressed to Cas’s thigh, and Cas did his best to worm his hand around to reach it, reaching clumsily but finding his arm couldn’t make the distance. Dean guided his friend’s hand back up, and it eventually landed on Dean’s hip. Cas made up for it by kissing to Dean’s neck, sucking the skin in the spot he’d found that made Dean’s toes curl. It was in this way that they made lazy, inelegant love to one another all morning --- moving about for better angles, each touch thoughtful and caring, sometimes finding themselves in awkward positions that they eventually worked their ways out of. (The same thing happens in their friendship, so why should the sex be any different?)

 

Dean nearly fell out of bed trying to reach the discarded lube on the floor despite Cas insisting they could go without (Dean, I can create the proper lubrication with my grace,) leaving Cas to haul his friend back onto the mattress. They spent a while fumbling with the cap before spilling a crap ton over the both of them. Dean cursed, but neither of them really minded very much. It was the cleaning lady’s problem now. Soon, they were both hard, and the pair slid their bodies together --- doing nothing extravagant, simply moving against one another for mutual pleasure, the friction of their cocks rubbing and their still roaming mouths and hands more than enough for either of them. Their thrusts were undisciplined with no real discernable rhythm, and their moans were soft and a bit ragged. It didn’t take long before both men were close --- and this time Cas was first, spilling over them with muffled cry. The feel of Cas’s come on his skin was enough to send Dean crashing over the edge as well, his come mixing with Cas’s, painting their bellies.

 

“Now, that’s how you start the day off right.” Dean declared, voice rough and breathless.

 

Having won the wrestling match, Dean settled on top of Cas. They laid there, breathing laboured, foreheads pressed together and noses touching, doing nothing more than looking at one another through heavy-lidded eyes. The pair stayed like that for a long time as their hearts slowed and their blood resumed its usual course, until Cas decided to break the silence.

 

“Will you get off _now?”_

 

With a harumph Dean rolled off of Cas, making a lewd sticky sound as their sweaty bodies pulled apart. Dean’s abdomen was smeared with drying come, and it was growing itchy and uncomfortable. Cas lifted his hand, and then paused.

 

“Would you still like a shower, or may I clean you off?” He asked.

 

Dean sighed.

 

“You know I love me some shower sex,” he quipped with a wink, “but in all honesty, I wanna get back. We still have to stop for food and maybe do some laundry. Magic me clean.”

 

Cas’s hand didn’t move.

 

“What’s the magic word?” He deadpanned.

 

It was Dean’s turn to roll his eyes.

 

“You know what, Cas? You aren’t very funny.”

 

“Hmm.”

 

“ … Fine. _Please._ ”

 

With that, Cas twisted his wrist lazily. Dean felt a tingling sensation run the length of his middle, and he was suddenly splatter-free.

 

“That comes in handy.” Said Dean, running his hand over his stomach absentmindedly. “Hey! That reminds me! I thought something had siphoned your mojo, or whatever. What’s the deal? And _please_ don’t say the power of love.”

 

The angel bit his lower lip in thought. “As I said before, I can’t really be sure.”

 

Dean deflated slightly.

 

“But---” Cas continued, and Dean turned his head. “I truly do believe it was due to our activities --- er --- intimacy.”

 

Interested, Dean refrained from commenting on his friend’s equally prudish use of words and let him continue.

 

“During sex, human souls become temporarily linked; the strength of the link depending on attraction, physical performance, and emotional attachment. This bond allows souls to partially coalesce, which give them the ability to trade celestial light and energy. Sex was designed as a consummation of heterosexual marriage before humans became more - _bold -_ about with whom they lay, so it can and does serve as a way in which souls connect to one another, even beyond the institute of holy matrimony.” Cas clasped his hands, and his voice grew more thoughtful. “Although, I have never factored grace into the equation. Whether any of the soul I possessed as a human still remains, I can’t be sure; but you know well as I that souls are one of the most powerful and valued commodities in the Universe, carrying immense potential, and existing independently of another guiding force. Grace, on the other hand, is a separate entity --- while a soul creates energy, grace conducts and retains it --- so its level of function depends on how much energy is allocated to it by heaven. The more I separate from heaven, the less power I receive and the more quickly it depletes. Therefore, it is uncertain how it would be affected by sex.”

 

Cas stopped, still gazing up and studying the off-white ceiling tiles. Dean was quiet, too. For a few seconds.

 

“So,” said Dean, “thanks for the vocabulary lesson, I guess.” Dean heard his friend exhale, a hint of a begrudged chuckle permeating his breath. Dean went on. “But, what does that have to do with your grace, or whatever?”

 

“As for that, I can only guess. It causes me to recall a few years ago, not terribly long after you and your brother prevented the apocalypse, when I was --- when, I was, uh, terribly misguided.”

 

The angel lying next to him fell quiet, and Dean could sense the ugly mixture of revulsion and remorse that seeped past his reserved features. He knew, of course, what Castiel was referring to. Nearly seven years had past since, but it seemed like so much longer --- it felt so small in their metaphorical rearview mirror that Dean hadn’t devoted many of his thoughts to it as of late; and the only thing seeming to steadily haunt him from that period of time were images of a cloudy suburban water supply and distant, strangled laughter. But Cas was, indeed, terribly misguided in his decisions --- betraying his friends, trusting Crowley, and opening the gates of Purgatory, to name a few --- but Dean had forgiven him long ago, their surviving bond living proof of that. Still, not unlike his brother, Cas punished himself more than Dean ever could have done himself. Dean was sobered as he remembered Castiel’s blunt, loaded words.

 

_“If I see what Heaven’s become, what I’ve made of it … I’m afraid I might kill myself.”_

 

He wished Cas wouldn’t dwell on his past mistakes, but who was he to talk? Dean’d done his share of fucking up the world, and his whole schtick was dwelling on it like the self-loathing, emotionally constipated flannel-wearing hothead he was. But Cas? Cas was pure, he was virtuous, following the holy, righteous path for all of the unknown millenia he’s been around, never having known evil and corruption unless it was against the sharp edge of his blade.  Castiel saw in black and white, and time with the Winchesters muddled that up; leaving Cas to sort through shades of gray without knowing what it was exactly he had come across. So of course, when he found purpose to serve, a path to follow, he jumped at it --- and ended up confusing dark with light as he struggled to find a footing between his angelic duty and his ties to Earth, wanting good but doing bad. As they say, ‘the road to hell is paved with good intentions’---

 

_Well, perhaps, ‘the road to Purgatory,’ in this case._

 

Before Dean had a chance to interject, Castiel continued.

 

“When --- when I, _absorbed,_ the debased souls of purgatory, the status of my grace didn’t change --- of course, at that time my grace was still more or less intact, but it was still that of a Seraph. My power only grew due to an immense source of energy in close proximity, which channeled itself through my grace --- similar to that electrical surge we had a few weeks ago, the one that blew out your coffeemaker and Sam’s hairdryer.” Dean half chuckled, still amused by the fact that Sam had secretly owned a hairdryer.

 

“Anyways,” Cas continued, “to sum it up, the only power I possess is that which I have access to.”

 

Dean contemplated this before speaking. “So, you’re a holy _extension cord,_ then?” He said,  still grappling with the concept.

 

“In so many words, yes.” Cas confirmed.

 

“Okay...” said Dean as the pieces began to fall into place. “And that means you tapped into my, uh, _soul power,_  while we, y’know?”

 

Cas hesitated before agreeing. “I suppose.”

 

“Alright, I’m gettin’ it.” Dean went on, proud of himself for catching on in such a reasonable amount of time. “So, If you’re an extension cord,  that makes me an electrical outlet.”

 

“I guess.”

 

Dean suppressed a smile as he waited the appropriate amount of time before he dropped the one-liner.

 

“So, that means you could say that you ‘ _plugged into me,’_ Cas.”

 

Dean grinned like an idiot at his own shitty joke. Cas groaned.

 

“What? Not even a smile?” Dean elbowed Cas in the ribs. “C’mon, that was a good one. No? Nothing? Alrighty then chuckles. As far as theory goes, was I close?”

 

“The presentation of your _theory_ was rather crude, but yes, it’s along the lines of what I was thinking.” Said Cas.

“So, recap --- the only juice you got is what you’re given. I think I read something like that in one of Bobby’s journals --- about angels being firehoses, you can’t do crap if there ain’t no water coming from the spigot.” Dean said, inspecting a fingernail. “And, _apparently,_ you can charge your battery by gettin’ down and dirty.”

 

Cas gave a decisive nod. “ _Yes.”_ He affirmed. “But, I don’t know if it would work that way all the time. There may have been something special about the situation _.”_

 

A devilish grin grew across Dean’s face. “ Hmm…” he mused, stroking his chin facetiously. “Y’know, we should probably test that theory. A few times. And change up the variables --- different positions, extra foreplay, maybe some _role play---”_

 

“Dean!”

 

“All in the name of science, of course.”

 

“Hmph.”

The pair had bickered a while more before falling quiet, each staring at the ceiling and letting their minds quiet and wander. Dean could have easily fallen back asleep, too --- but before he had the chance, his wristwatch beeped loudly. When he checked it, he didn’t believe his eyes.

 

“Holy _shit!”_ Dean exclaimed, sitting straight up in bed.

 

Cas flinched at the sudden movement, squinting at Dean with sleepy eyes. “What’s wrong?” he asked, scratching his head.

 

“It’s _noon_.” Answered Dean.

 

He rubbed his temples, giving the room a once-over. Looking at the angle of the light and the yellowness of the room, he realized it was more than obvious it was no longer early morning, and he wanted to kick himself. They could have been getting home about now.

 

“At this rate, we won’t get back ‘till six,” He calculated. “And that’s if we leave right now, no pit-stops.”

 

But just as he was about to haul himself out of bed, he felt a firm hand on his shoulder. Dean turned his head to find that Cas had sat up as well.

 

“Stay.” The angel said bluntly.

 

Dean’s next remark was going to be something typical, like : “ _C’mon lazy-pants, we gotta haul ass” ---_ or perhaps; “ _The car is leaving in 10, with or without you,”_  but when Dean turned his head to look at his friend, he decided to bite his tongue. Castiel looked no different --- and that was perhaps why Dean changed his mind. He had the same slumped shoulders, the same earnest gaze --- the same Castiel that has never really known patience and affection, the same Castiel that Dean had rarely been gentle with himself. What Cas had said was quite simple, but the meaning carried in his single word hit Dean square in the chest. Castiel --- in all of his celestial grace and incomprehensible magnitude, of whom has seen empires rise and fall and stars die and come into being --- has asked something of him with such imploring sincerity one may think it were of great importance to the entirety of the universe; when, in fact, the sheer simplicity of the request could be just as stunning. Castiel wants him to _stay._ He wants Dean to _stay._

 

Suddenly, it all became very real for Dean Winchester. And, for the first time in forever, he felt blessed. Somehow, after all he’d lived through, all of the things he had done, something like this could exist for him? Something this tangible, something this _real?_ Could a person who drips with purity and kindness and strength really see past his flaws, and wait this long for him to come to himself? Peer into his soul and still find him worthy of such a deep, abiding … was it … _love?_ Dean would have never deemed himself deserving of that, of any of this; and yet, here he sat --- looking back into the eyes of the one that _stayed_ , through everything. Who’d never asked for anything in return.

 

Except for this.

 

Dean’s posture softened as he relaxed into Cas’s touch. This was special. He didn’t know if they would ever have a chance like this again, and he just may as well take full advantage of it. And so, Dean answered in words just as simple as the angel’s.

 

“ _Of course.”_

 

* * *

 

_~The End~_

_(prologue to come)_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again! Stick around for the prologue, and for a sneak peak at the SEQUEL!!!


End file.
